


holy water, flaming sword

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angelic Healing, Crowley’s Plants - Freeform, Holy Water, Love confessions under duress, M/M, Michael visits London, Post-Canon, Return of the flaming sword, and the express delivery man, archangels be dangerous motherfuckers bro, but likely not entirely canon-compliant, mild violence, near-character death, open-ended fic, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 16:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: The Archangel Michael descends upon London on a mission of vengeance. A pair of so-called traitors find themselves pushed to new limits.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 25
Kudos: 170





	holy water, flaming sword

The Archangel Michael would have liked to arrive in London on a sunny morning, preferably a weekend. She would have liked to be wearing a nice coat in a non-threatening colour, such as pastel pink or blue, and she would have loved the opportunity to leave her hair down, or at least partly down, in tidy little waves. 

She would have liked to get away with some heavenly gold flecks in her otherwise human-like makeup. She would have liked to stroll the busy streets at a leisurely pace. Indeed, the Archangel Michael would have liked to arrive in London for anything other than business, but that was not the case.

There were loose ends that needed tying up, and they needed to be tied with urgency.

So the Archangel Michael could not wait for a sunny day to descend from Heaven. On the morning she landed in London the sky was cloudy, signalling the imminent arrival of rain. She wore a blazer and a winged blouse underneath- after all, she was here on business. 

She also wore her usual makeup, but in this case she preferred to think of it as war paint.

On the same cloudy London morning, the demon Crowley was sauntering out of his garden room with a plant mister dangling from one hand, satisfied with the stern talking-to he had just given them. He barely noticed that he was no longer alone in the flat until a smug voice spoke.

“Who were you talking to?”

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, and turned on the spot. Standing in his living room, hands folded calmly, was Michael. 

Instantly, Crowley’s instincts blasted warning signs at him. “Michael,” he gulped. “_Dude._ What the- what the Heaven do you want?” He wanted to stay calm, to make it appear as if her sudden, unexpected appearance didn’t rattle him at all; but an edge of anger and defensiveness crept into his voice. There was only one angel allowed around here, Crowley thought savagely, and it most certainly was not Michael.

“Hello, Crowley. You can forget about slithering your way out of this one- this is as far as you’re going to get.”

Their eyes met, and Michael quietly relished the flash of surprise and dread in the demon’s yellow eyes. She only hoped he could see the contempt in hers. Crowley stuttered, “Uh...what’s going on?”

“When you stepped out of that bathtub unharmed, when the other Archs told me that Aziraphale could not be incinerated- I knew something was up with you two traitors.” Michael said, her tone laced with venom. “You worked together to survive your punishment. And I don’t care how you did it,” she continued, “But I know for damn sure that I will make you suffer for it.”

Crowley waved his hands frantically, “Nooo, Mike, you heard it, didn’t you? Me ‘n Aziraphale have been down here too long.” He managed a grin, “We’ve become somewhat human by exposure. I mean, I was surprised too, but it is what it is- ineffable, you’d say- “

“Shut up,” barked Michael. “Don’t be absurd. There is no way The Almighty would just let that happen.”

“Aw,” Crowley couldn’t help but say. “You’re just mad ‘cause I made you miracle me a towel, right?”

“You and that ridiculous principality made fools of us,” said Michael haughtily. She took a step forward, and Crowley, for all his bravado, took a step back. “You humiliated me in front of the forces of Hell. It’s bad enough you break all the rules, now you’ve even thwarted the celestial justice system- and I don’t even want to know what unholy miracle-or-other you’ve had to connive for just to pull it off.” She was seething now. “So. Whatever it is, I’m here to finish the job.”

“Honestly, I’m just impressed,” remarked Crowley. “You came all the way down here just to tie up a loose end. Isn’t this kind of dirty work beneath you?”

“Dirty work?” Michael repeated angrily. “You forget who you’re talking to, demon. I am the Archangel Fucking Michael. I led armies in the rebellion, I watched my soldiers fall and die, I was the one who cast Satan out. I invented dirty work!”

Her wings unfurled just then- downy white diffused with steely grey, primary feathers splayed like bars of a cage built to corner Crowley into submission. They sent a deep-seated dread coursing through Crowley’s bones; a tremor associated with the fear and rage of Falling. “And for six thousand years I have tried to keep everyone in line. Then out of nowhere, someone like Aziraphale goes and turns the entirety of the Great Plan on its head. What’s an Archangel to do?” Michael said, spreading her hands. “I have to discipline my own. But I also happen to be very good at smiting demons. After all, my naughty angel wouldn’t have been so naughty if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, so it’s _Aziraphale_ you’re really mad at,” taunted Crowley. He couldn’t help it. “Well, why aren’t you running around trying to hurt _him_?”

Michael smirked. “Silly demon. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

She pulled out a water gun from beneath her blazer. Crowley only had a split second to react - but that split second saved his life.

Narrowly.

A powerful stream of liquid grazed Crowley’s side just as he dodged to the left. Instantly he reeled back, not feeling wet, but scalding- burning, even. He felt his power ebbing.

“Shit,” hissed Crowley, wanting nothing more than to press his hand to his side, but knowing better. “Holy water?!”

“The holiest,” Michael said, and took aim again.

Crowley flicked his wrist, a sharp upward motion. The stools he had arranged around the bar flew out of place and hurtled toward the archangel, smashing into her wings and throwing her backward completely. Michael tumbled wings over heels before righting herself and flinging the furniture back with her own powers. 

Crowley was already a step ahead. He unfurled his own wings- painfully, with massive effort, and they filled the space behind him like an expanding black hole.

“Fiend!” screamed Michael. Her old instincts of fighting with a blade, with a spear, with her bare hands, took over, and the water pistol was flung over her shoulder as she lunged for Crowley. They both hurtled backward into the plant room.

Crowley shoved her off of him, rolled over onto his back with a gasp. The ceiling above him was framed by leaves and branches, and there was a skylight up there. Big enough for Crowley to fly out of. He scrambled to his feet, beat his wings- Michael grabbed hold of one slender ankle and attempted to drag him below where she knew he belonged-

The plants moved.

They shifted and rustled, and _grew_\- out of their pots and holders, branches lengthening, vines suddenly coiling into life, and they reached toward the Archangel eagerly. Crowley managed to kick Michael’s grasp off his foot and watched through vision clouded with pain, as his plants- his precious, disappointing, terrified plants- created a thicket around Michael, trapping unwieldy wings and flailing limbs as she squirmed and groaned in an attempt to get free.

“Crowley!” He heard her yell. “You wicked, wily son of a- “

“I’m sorry,” whispered Crowley, but not to her. He snapped his fingers.

And the knot of leaves and branches that pinned Michael down suddenly burst into bright blue flame.

Michael screamed, writhing. Crowley felt a wave of agony hit him- not from her, but from his plants. It felt cruel, even for a demon, to do this when they’d protected him after so much verbal abuse. But it was the only way.

He tilted his head up, beat his wings again, and shot through the skylight in a shower of glass.

* * *

  
_Silly demon. That’s exactly what I’m doing. _

The realisation pounded horrifically in Crowley’s brain as he flew. _Hurt Aziraphale. Hurt him the most by hurting - by killing - me._

It meant they knew he was important to him.

Crowley pushed himself further, focusing on the destination. It was his last hope, and he rocketed toward it with the same grim determination that had carried him across a burning motorway to the end of the world. He was sure he was going to make it - but he wasn’t sure if getting there would save him.

At the very least, if it all ended today, he would be with Aziraphale.

The bookshop appeared in sight over the roofs below. With an effort, Crowley tucked his wings and dove. The wings hid themselves as he landed at the doorstep, stumbling, the tear in his side stinging with blinding pain, but he managed to push the doors open and burst inside.

Like the miracle he was, Aziraphale was there, standing behind the barely-used counter with a mug of cocoa in his hand.

“Oh, hello,” he said, bemused.

Crowley managed a grin.

“Hi, Angel,” he said, before collapsing.

Crowley barely registered Aziraphale giving a yelp of surprise, rushing toward him, the mug left suspended in midair before landing onto the tabletop with a tiny splash. He grabbed the demon’s shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, “Crowley, what happened?” It didn’t take him long to find out. His hand brushed against the wound, still soaked, and drew a sharp breath between his teeth as if he was the one who’d been hurt. “That’s - that’s holy water - no, no, no no no _no_, who did this to you?!”

“Well, you know,” said Crowley, trying to make light of it, “I ran into our old friend- Michael - lovely girl- except when she’s angry- and h-happens to have a water pistol- “

Aziraphale couldn’t help but pause for a second to imagine it. “Really?” he said incredulously.

“Yes, really!” groaned Crowley. “Aziraphale, please - help me, you’re the only one who can - “

Without another word the angel hoisted him up and helped him into the nearest armchair. A flick of his wrist and a stool dragged itself across the floor, positioning itself beneath Aziraphale as he sat down.

“What did she want,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Crowley shut his eyes in pain, “You’ll never believe it, Angel, but she came - to do what she does best - avenge - she found out,” he said, as Aziraphale placed a hand over the affected spot. Little by little Crowley was melting into the chair, becoming less with every second. “She found out about us. She knows we must’ve done something- to survive the trials.”

Fear flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes for a moment. Six thousand years, and he’d never stopped being afraid of archangels. Not until he thought they’d gotten away with the body switch. But here, once again, was proof that although they played up the image of benevolent beings, there wasn’t a single thing in the world more terrifying than an archangel with wounded pride.

“And she started with you?”

“Yeah, don’t you see?” said Crowley with an agonised grin. “She knew it was gonna - gonna break you.” The words came out in a wheeze. Aziraphale barely had time to process it, so he shut the thought away and put his attention on Crowley.

“Alright, hush now,” he said softly, an attempt to comfort him despite the growing panic in his gut. “Let me fix this.”

“Please,” groaned Crowley. A warm white light flared up where Aziraphale touched him. He watched the angel’s features tighten with focus, trying to pull Crowley back together. The light went out, and Aziraphale renewed his efforts twice before having to pull back, breathing heavily.

“Angel - “

“Shh, Crowley, I’m trying,” wailed Aziraphale, before making another attempt. Just as he was sure he had Crowley back in shape the wound opened itself again, gnawing at the rest of the demon as the holy water continued to soak his skin. Aziraphale felt his power ebb and flow, his hold over the healing light dwindling as panic took over. The thought of failing, of losing Crowley, was all that occupied him, and if he couldn’t focus he would certainly fail.

He looked hopelessly at Crowley, whose eyes had gone full snake-yellow; an obvious sign that he was under duress.

“Is it that bad?” said Crowley.

“I’m going to try again,” Aziraphale declared. “And I’m not going to stop - until we’re absolutely sure - that you’re going to be okay.” He punctuated each phrase with a new attempt at healing, the white light flaring up then going out again.

“Aziraphale, look,” said Crowley, struggling to get the words out. “if it’s too much... just forget about it.”

“No! Absolutely out of the question,” snapped Aziraphale. He was only ever this short with him when he was stressed out. Now both hands pressed into Crowley’s side fervently. “I can do this. I can. I have to.” The light flared and flickered out, he felt his best friend slipping away, and tried his hardest to hold on. There were tears in his eyes when he looked up again.

“Just give me a minute, I need to calm down - “

“Afraid I don’t have a minute,” Crowley said. He let his head sink into the back of the armchair, unable to hold it up any longer. “Listen, Angel...I know I didn’t say it when I should have...so, before it all goes to shit, let me - let me say - ”

“Shut up,” said Aziraphale, and he lurched forward unexpectedly and pressed his lips against Crowley’s.

He didn’t expect that to help matters, didn’t even expect to even do it in the first place. But Crowley’s lips parted beneath his in surprise, in surrender, and his eyelids fluttered shut, and their free hands found each other and laced fingers in desperation. Then the light and the warmth grew between them, spreading from beneath Aziraphale’s fingers still pressed to Crowley’s side and shining like a magnesium flare -

Crowley broke off abruptly, gasping as his body reincorporated.

All at once the light went out, and they were left sitting there, mere inches from one another. Crowley gingerly looked down at where the holy water had melted him.

He was whole. And dry. And perhaps most miraculously of all, his shirt was just fine.

“Oh, great,” was all he could manage, before pulling Aziraphale back toward him for a second kiss. The armchair creaked ever so slightly as their weight shifted, Aziraphale moving onto Crowley’s lap and straddling him without a second thought.

“You naughty angel,” Crowley smirked, when they’d pulled apart just long enough to get words in. “How long were you waiting for an excuse to do that?”

“Let’s just call it a moment of spontaneity, my dear,” chuckled Aziraphale in relief.

“As if you haven’t been plotting to swoop in at the opportune moment, when I least expected it-“ 

“Well now, isn’t plotting more of your thing?” Aziraphale’s breath hitched as Crowley’s hand ran itself along the outside of his thigh. Trust them to banter like this after a brush with certain death.

“In that case Michael was right to come after me,” Crowley murmured against his chin. “Seeing as, apparently, I am this important to you.” 

“Oh, but you are, my dear, you always have been,” whispered Aziraphale. Fingers winding in Crowley’s hair, he went on planting light kisses on the demon’s cheeks and jaw. “Forgive me. Forgive me. I thought not telling you, not showing you before would protect us, but it seems the truth will always out.”

Crowley grinned, already going giddy with the sensation. “Worth it.”

Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s jaw in his hands, “You’re all right now, aren’t you? Everything fine?”

“Everything is fine, Angel,” promised Crowley. One more kiss. He would have kept on if he hadn’t suddenly started feeling very tired, and Aziraphale noticed. He pulled back ever so gently.

“Your body needs to rest,” he noted. “It’s got to shut down for a while, and keep healing. You can stay here.”

“Not like I can go anywhere else,” mumbled Crowley drowsily. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “Not like I want to go anywhere else.”

They smiled at each other, Aziraphale’s gaze becoming shy. “We’ll talk later,” was all he said, and slid off Crowley’s lap with little difficulty. “For now, just...sleep, if you need to. That’s been quite enough excitement for today.”

“Angel,” murmured Crowley. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” whispered Aziraphale. He leaned over and kissed Crowley’s temple gently.

There was a demon sleeping in his best armchair, a tingling sensation all over Aziraphale’s body where it had made contact with Crowley’s, and a vengeful archangel running around somewhere - where had Michael gone after she’d tried to off Crowley, anyway? It was all pretty chaotic, Aziraphale thought, and wished he’d had at least a moment in between to process the emotions that had come in quick succession over the brief span of time since Crowley had burst into the shop. The image would always be seared into Aziraphale’s brain, and so would the feeling of terror at nearly losing him. And then to have it be replaced so quickly by the unexpected ecstasy of the kiss, then the arching relief that Crowley was safe...

Aziraphale shook his head. That really was enough excitement for the day. There was the matter of defending themselves against further attacks, for certainly if Michael knew that Crowley had survived she’d want to finish the job (Aziraphale had sat through her many corporate presentations on The Importance of Following Through.) There was one thing that might work out, although it required confrontation. And risk. And sacrifice - things Aziraphale had avoided all his life. But they’d followed him around anyway, and maybe he hadn’t done such a bad job at dealing with them. Resolutely Aziraphale glanced back at Crowley’s sleeping figure and knew he’d do anything to protect him.

He knew what he had to do.  
  


* * *

  
Six thousand years, and Michael thought she knew how to read the expressions in Gabriel’s lavender eyes. Right now she recognised disappointment, mainly at her sudden decision to act without his approval, travel to Earth and directly destroy a demon; also, likely, because she had failed at that. She recognised concern for what had happened to her, for what might happen next now that Crowley had escaped.

She recognised fear. Not because he thought the two traitors were going to be a threat. Because he had forgotten that at her core, Michael was a warrior, not an employee.

“How did you even find that demon?” Gabriel finally managed to ask.

“I have contacts in Hell, you know that,” Michael said quietly. “Back channels.” She was sat in his office, the door shut tight. Her suit was singed, her makeup smudged- Michael had found herself jarred back into Heaven as her human corporation perished. And of course, when you got up there without your body, your boss always wanted to know what you’d done with it.

“I can’t believe you,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “Mike, at this rate you’ve broken as many rules as they have.”

“Would you have let them get away with it?” she snarled. “I know they did some- some unholy, unspeakable thing that allowed them to survive! And you know we cannot have Aziraphale incite another revolution because he dared to question the Great Plan. He would never have done it if he didn’t care so much for that demon, anyway.”

Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re angry.”

“Don’t try to- “

“Mike. I know.” He met her eyes. “Me, too.”

Michael relaxed at that, releasing a breath that she didn’t need. But her gaze remained steely. “So what are we going to do.” 

Gabriel patted her shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”

* * *

  
“Ah, yes. Thank you so much for coming. Apologies for any inconvenience, but this really was quite urgent. I appreciate it.” 

Crowley cracked one eyelid open at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, his ears attuned by now to focus directly on the angel even while the rest of his consciousness slid back into working order. He blinked a couple of times to see Aziraphale opening the bookshop door and talking to a tall figure with a cap- a delivery person- he seemed to be signing something off, and in turn received a long cardboard box.

“Too easy,” came a familiar voice, and Crowley recognised the postie from the International Express. “Thank you. Cheers.”

“No, my good man, thank you,” Aziraphale responded graciously, and shut the door.

“Mmmggghh...’Ziraphale?” Crowley managed, as the angel came through holding the box. His smile lit up the whole room when he noticed Crowley awake.

“How are you feeling?”

“Lots better,” mumbled Crowley, sitting up in the armchair. His brows furrowed as he tried to get a better look st the package Aziraphale was holding, “What’s that?”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, all at once looking shifty. He wet his lips. “This is...well, you certainly remember when you first asked me to get you holy water, all those years ago.”

“How could I forget,” said Crowley, rubbing his eyes.

“Back then, you told me what you wanted was insurance. This is...the same thing.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the twine strings came off, the end of the box unfolding open. He reached in and pulled out a familiar, ancient sword.

Crowley stared. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

The demon sputtered, “How? How did you get your hands on that thing again?”

“All I did was make a call and tell them what I was after. Being the last person who signed for its re-storage, not to mention the original owner of the sword, they were kind enough to sell it back to me. In any case, I daresay War is unlikely to need it any time soon. Now it’s here. Ah, the wonders of same-day delivery.”

“And explain to me why you think this is necessary?”

“Oh hush,” tutted Aziraphale. “Think about it, Crowley. You were just attacked by Michael on a quest of vengeance. What did you do to stop her?”

“My houseplants,” said Crowley bluntly. “They trapped her long enough for me to get away.”

Aziraphale regarded him, wide-eyed with mild surprise. “Did they now? How interesting.” With a tiny shake of his head he came back to focus on the matter, “Either way, you know that won’t hold her. She’s likely to tell the other Archs now, get their help, that is if she hadn’t been sent here by them in the first place, and I’ll even wager they’ll be reaching out to your lot below to make sure they get both of us- “

“And what, launch a full-scale invasion on a bookshop in Soho?” said Crowley, a withering tone in his voice. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”

Aziraphale raised the sword as one might raise their paddle at a high-energy auction. “Best to be prepared.”

Crowley sighed. He couldn’t argue- between the two of them, Aziraphale was always the one to think ahead. He was clever like that, and usually right. In this situation Crowley couldn’t risk relying on his own single brain cell.

“Whatever happened to- to being the nice one? To not having to be the one to do the dirty work?” Crowley said anyway, a slight protest.

“Oh, dear boy, I don’t expect this to be the only thing that saves us,” said Aziraphale. “When it comes to it, I intend to talk to the Archs. Reason with them. But I also thought, they’re more likely to be listening when they see me holding this.” He held the sword out, and for a moment remembered what it was like- what it was really like- at the Beginning, in the Garden. “I am, after all, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. It’s time we all started remembering that.”

He raised his chin and Crowley couldn’t help but smile at his brave angel, his relentless protector. He left the armchair and came to Aziraphale, barely realising what he intended to do until their lips met and all went quiet in his head. No snarky remarks. No more questions. Crowley should have known by now that all the answers, and all the ways he could be satisfied, lay with Aziraphale.

The angel chased his lips for one more kiss before Crowley pulled away, and tenderly laid a hand on his cheek. 

“So we’re doing this,” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded. In his hand, the sword ignited itself, wreathing the blade in orange flame.

“Once you know how to do it,” he said, smiling at Crowley’s impressed expression, “you never forget.”

Crowley took a step back, and changed- his human shape blurring into a different form altogether until Aziraphale found himself standing in the round room with a massive black python. The python opened its eyes to reveal Crowley’s signature look of yellow-tinged mischief and rebellion.

“_Then let’sssssss get started_,” he hissed.

Angel and demon turned to face the door of the bookshop, and they waited.

* * *

27/04/2020 Incredible fan art by @breakmyhxlo on Twitter ❤️  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m not so sure of this work, honestly. Tell me what you think in the comments or @ me on Twitter: @stan_gaiman


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